


this is not harmless

by coricomile



Series: The Dislocated Room - Winterhawk Week 2015 [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruises, M/M, Winterhawk Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky still holds on too tight sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Серьезнее, чем кажется](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759053) by [Riru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riru/pseuds/Riru), [WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018/pseuds/WTF_Marvel_Trash_Party_2018)



> Day Seven: Pain
> 
> I wrote two different stories based around the same paragraph because I couldn't choose which direction I wanted to go. They're not connected in any way except for that paragraph.

Bucky still holds on too tight sometimes, the metal plates of his fingers pinching tender skin between them, thumb leaving a purple black bruise in the hollow of Clint's hip. He apologizes for them in the morning, all gruff voice and averted eyes. He knows about the string of people that used to beat Clint down and it aches to know that he might be part of it. 

Clint's always moving, hands twitching and legs jittery and mouth running. When he forgets to put his hearing aids in, his voice fills the entire apartment. Bucky thinks about hummingbirds- something he'll never tell Clint under pain of death. Too much energy for one small body, all of it screaming to be let out at once. Clint says it keeps him out of his head when he's not on a mission. If he's in his head, he can lose time too easily. 

Bucky understands that. 

In bed, Clint likes to be held down, arms above his head or behind his back, his body pinned by Bucky's. Bucky tries not to press too hard, tries not to grind the tender, precious bones of Clint's wrists together with his metal hand, but sometimes-

Sometimes he forgets that under the bluster and the sharpshooting and the loud mouth that Clint's only human. There are days when he fills Bucky's entire world, larger than life, larger than a man should be, dragging Bucky down to earth and keeping him there. He's good and smart and funny, willing to stand up no matter how many times he's been beaten down. He's more than just human inside, but the outside is still frail. 

"You don't have to feel bad about it," Clint says as Bucky strokes the dark bruise on the inside of Clint's left forearm. It's split in the middle, a gap where the plates of Bucky's thumb don't quite meet up. He nudges Bucky's hip with his knee, offering a lopsided grin. "I like them, you know? They make me think of you."

"I don't want to be remembered by pain," Bucky says softly. He can't stop looking at the edges of the bruise where it's starting to turn yellow. He's left a lot of pain, a lot of death, behind him. For Clint he'd like to be a good memory. Something safe. Something kind. 

Bucky hasn't been a kind man in a long time. He forgets what it's like. 

"Hey." Clint pulls him up, arms strong enough to lift all of Bucky's weight. He rubs his nose against Bucky's throat, humming. "It's not about the pain for once, okay? I like knowing that I can get you out of your head, too. Little ol' Clint Barton, able to drive the big bad Winter Soldier mad with lust. It's totally going on my resume."

"You're such a little shit," Bucky says. Clint laughs against his jaw, his breath warm and damp. He wraps his legs around Bucky's and rolls them over. He's got a bruise in the shape of Bucky's mouth just under his jaw. 

"You _love_ it," Clint says. He pulls his shirt off over his head, hair forever a mess, and raises his eyebrows. "You think I can't handle a little rough handling?" 

"You shouldn't have to," Bucky says. He runs his right hand down over Clint's chest, cataloguing scars and freckles in turn. Clint puffs out his chest, arching his hips up in encouragement. Bucky stops right above the waistband of his sweats, tracing the curve of Clint's hipbone. 

"Blah, blah, blah," Clint says. 

He grabs Bucky's left wrist and pulls it up, placing Bucky's palm against his throat. The feeling through the metal is muted, transmitted differently than through flesh, but Bucky can still feel the steady flutter of Clint's pulse, the swell and collapse as he breathes. Clint closes each one of Bucky's fingers until he's held there, effectively trapped. Bucky's heartbeat stutters.

"If you wanted to hurt me," Clint says, words a bit garbled as his chin taps against the space between Bucky's thumb and first finger, "actually hurt me, you already would have done it. So either crush the windpipe and get it out of your system, or realize that I've got more training than even you do and can handle a few love bites."

Bucky tightens his hand, just a little, watching as Clint's eyes go dark. Clint tips his head back, giving him more room to work. He could do it. It would be over in seconds, Clint's fragile skin crumpling under his hand like paper. But he won't. He wouldn't. Not to Clint. 

Bucky pulls him down by the throat and kisses him. Clint's breaths are labored, working against the slight pressure, but when Bucky tries to pull away, Clint grabs his wrist again and holds him there. 

Bucky leaves a trail of finger marks and mouth marks down Clint's side, listens the soft sounds Clint makes. It still feels wrong, still makes him feel like an asshole every time Clint's voice catches, but in the morning Clint walks around the apartment in just his boxers, fingers twitching to the bruises when he's not paying attention. 

Bucky doesn't apologize. He doesn't have to.


	2. Chapter 2

They don't do romance. Not really. Clint doesn't buy flowers. Bucky doesn't whisper tender nothings into Clint's ear. They don't go on dates to fancy restaurants or talk about their happy future together. There may not be one. There probably won't. They know that. 

Instead, Bucky makes grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato on the nights Clint's been out on a mission. Clint tapes documentary after documentary about World War II and doesn't mention the way Bucky gets maudlin after watching them. They sit next to each other at debriefings and refuse anyone but each other to clean their wounds. 

Bucky has rough patches, nights when he wakes up covered in sweat and panting. Clint doesn't touch him, doesn't offer to hold him or coddle him. He waits it out and makes coffee when Bucky isn't breathing as hard. They stay up those nights, sitting in the kitchen with the coffee pot between them, silent except for the sound of spoons against chipped mugs. 

They don't make love. They fuck, Bucky's metal arm bracing Clint against the wall, Clint holding Bucky down and riding him. They fall into bed easily, all rough hands and bruising mouths. 

Bucky still holds on too tight sometimes, the metal plates of his fingers pinching tender skin between them, thumb leaving a purple black bruise in the hollow of Clint's hip. He apologizes for them in the morning, all gruff voice and averted eyes. Clint's had worse from people that were supposed to love him. The difference with Bucky is that it really is an accident, something beyond his control. 

Clint sleeps beside him, lets himself be vulnerable to someone that could kill him easily. Bucky showers with him, trusts Clint not to stab him in the back while he's not looking. They let their guards down in small increments, backsliding when things get too intimate, fighting to regain those lost inches. Neither one leaves. Neither one wants to. 

Clint's never said that he loves Bucky. He hasn't said that to anyone in years. Not since his brother tried to kill him. It's been even longer for Bucky. But sometimes Clint sees Bucky watching him and hears it anyway. He wonders if it's the same for Bucky. 

They don't do romance. There isn't room for it between them. It isn't needed.


End file.
